It’s officially a stand off. I’m staring it in the ‘eyes’, man to… umm, machine, ready for battle. Then suddenly, the monitor shuts off. As easy as that the damned machine scuttles away into the techno-ether. I’d like to think it’s fearful of my humanly wrath (I’m reaching for a heavy object, ready to start reducing this damned device to a pile of chips, screws, glass and plastic). But it’s only hiding to further hone plot against me. I hate you computer, I hate your very existence in my life. You shut down when you please, no fair warning or explanation is given (one that a moron like me can understand at least). With a brief flash of a ’window’ explaining the data from my thing-majg can’t load onto my doo hicky and so the file can’t attach to a proxy-something-or-another and the whachamacallit is dysfunctional due to a virus, imported via the, blah, blah, etc, yawn, snore. That’s my lay person (some would say idiot) interpretation of this satanic machine and its legions of devilish binary brothers language.
I curse my PC and it’s minefield of a playground, the Internet, on a daily basis. The two are comfortable bed fellows or should I say, an axis of evil. But in this comfort comes an unseen malificence, brewed up in the bowels of their elaborate mechanisms. They were created for a myriad of reasons (both positive and negative). But with all their technological brilliance, they also bring with them scourges of every kind, designed to endlessly frustrated, befuddle and demean humankind. The PC whirs in anger at my indignance. Note to self: type quieter. So I’m a technophobe, there, I said it, so what?! It still doesn’t change the fact my PC still takes 10 minutes to start up (so much for the breakneck speed of technological progress).
Let’s start with the most basic of a computers accessories. Printing is not so much a headache as it is a tumour. No matter how many times technicians and IT ‘experts’ come into to ‘fix’ the printer, it develops its own brain, printing anything it wants in whatever font or size its deem necessary to upset my day.
To the machine’s playground – the Internet. Even just the name leaves humans in awe. The Internet comes with a few billion users (abusers?) who use this damned thing to sell, preach, lecture, guide, harass, monitor, stalk, teach abuse… like I said, malificence.
And they can detect the hatred and frustration. They sense it via some obtuse, sinister means, shared only among machines for the purposes of plotting some kind of revenge on the human race. Here I was thinking this relationship between humankind and technology was a one-sided affair, with us humanly thingies fully in charge. I fear this could be the start of a Terminator-like, Space Oddyssey: 2001-esque machine-takeover. I foresee a terrifying future for our unhealthy reliance on the Net (Technophobe’s log, star date 2043: I think my computer can understand this human tongue language of ours. The monitor just went off for no reason. Note to self: maybe use less coarse language in the presence of the damned… I mean, awesomely impressive machine).
But this contraption’s never-ending trouble-making is surpassed by the innumerable techno-cliques of criminals, geeks and salespeople, to name but a few, who employ this unholy alliance to further their misguided agendas.
If you not trying avoid falling victim to a Nigerian called Walter, who promises to let you in on a multi-trillion dollar deal he’s about to clinch, granted you pay one beeelllliiiooon dollars into his bank account (usually offshore, mostly Swiss and never above board).
Salespeople are themselves corporate criminals, only, they have a better (only marginally so) grasp of the English language”. Click here and your penis will instantly inflate to, not twice, not thrice, but four times its normal size” screams one advertisement as it pops up out of the binary ether. It then never goes away (the ad, that is. If you were dumb enough to buy the penis enlargement machine made in Kazakhstan, then you deserve the pain which accompanies dubious lenis enlargement).
E-mail, while necessary in this day and age if you wish to avoid hermit-dom and wish stay in reluctant contact with the world and your mother is a minefield. Opening your e-mail is like defusing an I.E.D. The scamsters, sales rapists and pointless company newsletters pounce on you begging, demanding, ordering, and convincing their way to your stomach, where the gurgling of intolerance simmers. One of the best examples of time-wasting and tempter-testing are those “Pass this e-mail on and you’ll get 7 wishes” messages. Ummmm, am I 7? Do they think I’m mentally-challenged and so will believe in wishes, unicorns and non-melting ice cream? Spam is the devils work, a construct from the hell.
Look, don’t get me wrong. I have my moments of admiration for computers and their I.T. entourage. A click of a rodent (get it? A mouse. Hahahahaha) Voila! A universe of information pops up. That’s just one of many examples of it’s brilliance (usually offered up by the multi-billion dollar I.T. industry in the way of infinite marketing).It’s a necessary good, which often transmogrifies itself into evil (especially to techno-morons such as myself). I hate to love the Internet and computers. I love to hate those who have so embraced cyber-world. Of all the functions these amazing inventions of our time have to offer, it’s the delete button on my keyboard I adore the most and the hammer I keep next to my PC’s hard drive – a not-so-subtle warning of it’s fate and who really controls it.
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